


A Gift From The Inner Realms

by catness



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Dark Fantasy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catness/pseuds/catness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Loosely inspired by two Mein Herz Brennt videos and by the Blackwell series adventure games.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Gift From The Inner Realms

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by two Mein Herz Brennt videos and by the Blackwell series adventure games.

The hall is drowning in red darkness. A stream of dim crimson light emerges out of nowhere, splashes across the grid of sterile ceramic wall tiles, dribbles over the bare floor and trickles into the corners to die. That's all there is to see. No windows, no doors, no escape; only the emptiness which has been my refuge and prison for an eternity.

I am alone but I still belong to the dark, dark world outside these tiled walls. That's why I am here. The Night had banned me from roaming its terrains and left me with a slice of crimson void to pace back and forth, with the echo of my heavy steps as my only company. The Chaos carved a permanent grimace of a smile onto my face, so I won't be sad.

My solitude is broken by an acute pang of warmth in my chest cavity, where the heart used to be. This is my call of duty, a signal from a Dreamer in need of my service. I focus on the warmth as it simmers and transforms into a pulsating blob, radiating light and agony. Scars on my chest begin to glow from within. I pound the impervious wall with my fists and scream the pain out, and the echo screams back at me.

When the burning within becomes unbearable, I know it's time to go. I thrust my fingers into my bare chest and rip out the steaming chunk of flesh. I squeeze it in my hands and concentrate on the beating rhythm, which transmits the directions into the Dreamscape. As the bleeding subsides, the rhythm grows stronger. It assaults my ears, pierces my skull, reverberates through the hall. The walls break apart and dissolve around me, and I step forward into the Dream.

I find myself in a dusky corridor with the bare walls covered with peeling gray paint. The boarded up windows allow a glimpse at the withering garden outside. I walk past the locked doors, and the sound of my steps is echoed with incomprehensible howling, weeping and clinging of metal. I walk past the smoking floor grills with emaciated human arms sticking out of them, clutching helplessly at the air. I've never been here before, but the scenery of morbid desolation is all too common for those who require my help. These tormented souls do not dream of rainbows and unicorns. Abandoned buildings and crowded graveyards, torture chambers and surgery halls, I've seen it all. To wherever they call me, I come. Darkness to darkness, pain to pain. 

I walk through the chill of whispering shadows, towards the source of warmth that can only come from the Dreamer. 

This time it's a young woman. Standing bolt upright against the bricked up wall, confined in a long black high neck gown, she looks like a porcelain doll, dressed up to look austere, and yet remaining incredibly fragile. Of course it's just an avatar, an illusion, same as everything around. The real identity of the Dreamer is not my concern. All I see is a soul in pain, confused and consumed by unattainable desires, trapped in her immutable world as much as I am trapped in mine. The difference between us is that I can help her. I can take away her burden and set her free. Her darkness had called for mine, even though she didn't know it, and I came to the rescue.

She still doesn't realize it, she will never realize it. She backs away, her eyes wide with horror. None of the Dreamers are willing to accept my help. They are scared - in their dreams I never appear as the repulsive grinning grotesquerie the Chaos had turned me into. They imagine me the way they want me to be - powerful, intimidating, terrifying. I believe that if somebody will ever dream me up in my real form, I'll become free, and the Dreamer will take my place. That's how it had happened to me. Or maybe not. My human days are long gone, blended into the crimson haze.

She materializes a massive shotgun in her trembling hands and points it at me. It doesn't disturb me. Imaginary weapons work against illusions, but whatever I am, I'm not a mere phantom. I walk towards her, not bothering to dodge the bullets which tear through my rib cage and disintegrate somewhere on the way to my spine. It hurts, but the pain is welcome. It reminds me yet again that I'm doing my job right. I take the pain away from those who want to give it.

My hands are on her throat, so soft and delicate. I could snap her neck at once. I look into her eyes and search for a reflection of myself. A wounded spirit dreaming of underground chambers populated with tortured prisoners, your true colors are black and red, you are out of place in the cityhive of busy swarming humans, and you'll never blend in. I've brought you something that you deserve - an escape. Your suffering ends now.

As my fingers dig into her flesh, her silky skin pales and withers, her golden hair turns gray and brittle. My fingertips tingle with energy that drains out of her body and enters my veins. It is pumped into my chest cavity, overflowing the empty space with an excruciating explosion of emotions and memories that are not mine - anger and fear, regrets and hopes. I clench my teeth and focus on completing the transition. If even a small spark of energy remains behind, it would leave the Dreamer forever suspended between illusion and reality. I wouldn't do anything cruel like that, because I care.

When I'm done, I plant the parting kiss on the withered lips and let the empty shell collapse into an amorphous heap on the stone floor. Somewhere in the Outer World, a human body convulses for the last time and lies still. Good night, my spirit mate, whoever you were. And I'm alone again.

My last task is to demolish the orphaned dream construct so it doesn't pollute the Dreamscape. With a snap of my fingers, I set the building on fire. As the doors burn and fall apart, scruffy chain-bearing creatures emerge out of the smoke and scramble to flee. I make no attempt to stop them. Those who are illusions won't get far before disintegrating together with the walls they belong to; those who are unwilling participants entangled in someone else's vision, will wake up with a headache and forget their nightmare before long.

The smoke condenses around me and solidifies into the familiar ceramic tiles. Another dream is over. The crimson light watches how I laugh at the sight of my misshapen hands still squeezing the blood out of the last scrap of my heart. If your mouth is forged into an everlasting smile, crying would be really stupid, wouldn't it?

My heart has been burnt and crushed for each one of you, but there is enough of me to help you all. You, with a hundreds of skeletons in your phantom closets. You, trudging through the murky haze of your days and trying to cope. You, who are too weak to act out your desires and too obsessive to give them up. There is an escape, the way to end your struggling, and it's just underneath your closed eyelids. Relax, turn off the lights and embark on your last journey into the Darkness. I'm coming for you.

Sweet dreams.


End file.
